


Pinup Boy

by mrwonderwoman (fem_castielnovak)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Love Confessions, Bureaucracy, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Office Shenanigans, Strike Team Delta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 22:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/mrwonderwoman
Summary: Coulson submits a request for an extra insurance policy on Agent Barton, and somehow this warrants a mild intra-office scandal.





	Pinup Boy

**Author's Note:**

> The only thing I care about rn is writing happy endings for these boys

 

 

"Agent Barton!" 

Clint and Natasha, on their way back from the breakroom, turn towards the administrative hallway, where the indignant cry had come from. They exchange a look when they realize that Fury's assistant, Meredith, is stomping her way towards them with a handful of forms. Clint can only imagine how scary her heels would sound with every step if the floor weren't carpeted. She pulls up to a furious stop before them, scowling at Clint.

"I can tolerate it when you don't do paperwork - in fact I don't much care one way or the other; that's Coulson's problem. But I will  _not_ have you cluttering my already insanely full inbox with-"

"Technically," Natasha interjects, "it's Fury's inbox." She takes a demure sip of her tea. Clint shoots her a glare because it'd be great if she stopped occasionally trying to inflame situations where he's already in trouble. He doesn't even know what he's getting yelled at for yet.

Meredith clenches her jaw and oh, yeah, that's what it means when people say someone's eyes flash with anger. He'd almost forgotten. 

" _My_  inbox," she declares, picking up from where she'd been interrupted, "with not just  _gag_  paperwork, but  _forged_ documents in your superior officer's hand." Meredith shakes the fistful of papers for emphasis.

She's been shouting this whole time and in his periphery Clint can see that about a quarter of the bullpen isn't even pretending not to watch this show - the first real excitement of the morning on this level of the building.

Nat takes the forms from Meredith. "Wow, Clint," she says flipping through the pages. "When did you get so good at faking Phil's handwriting?" She stops to peer at one of the signatures, bringing it almost up to her nose. 

"What?" he says, scrunching up his face in confusion, because he stopped practicing that like a year ago and Nat knows that he was only mostly good at it. None of this makes any fucking sense. 

Natasha raises her eyebrows the barest bit as she reads and he catches the hint of a smile in her eyes.

"What is it?" he asks looking down at the papers and taking another sip of coffee, because if she's amused like this it can't be too bad. 

The hint of a smile builds as she flips the packet back to the first page and holds it out for him to see. He peers over the lip of the mug to look and he recognizes what the form is - an insurance policy request - but it takes a minute of scanning the document to realize what it says.

When it clicks, he does an honest to God spit-take. And of course it happens with a fair amount of his on-duty coworkers watching. It’s not the dumbest thing he’s done in front of them ever. Or today. But it's still too much for it only being eight in the morning. Thank Christ none of it lands on the form or on Fury’s assistant. 

Clint continues to choke for a minute as he reads and rereads what the paper says. Natasha helpfully takes his mug. He wipes at his chin and mouth with the back of his hand as he coughs and finally catches his breath, reaching for the documents to get a closer look.

“That was  _not_ me,” he says as he flips the rest of the pages. They only confirm what the first one says; Clint - or rather, Clint's arms - are now worth a million dollars. Someone has requisitioned insurance coverage on Clint's arms up through and including injury to both his neck muscles and his shoulders.

“Clint,” says Nat, and he can already tell that she thinks whatever she’s about to say is going to be hilarious. “I know you admire Betty Grable, but I never thought you’d go as far as trying to become her." Again, she sips her tea. "It's a little gauche, don't you think?"

He continues running through the wording of the requisition. "Natasha, the woman was an artist. Who wouldn’t kill to be Betty Grable?” he quips - never one to bypass an opportunity for banter. "I sure as hell would. But like I said; this wasn't me."

"Oh, so I guess nobody did it," Meredith says, perky and sarcastic. 

Clint wants to roll his eyes but restrains himself, "Obviously somebody had to. I'm just saying that I didn't."

Meredith's jaw sets, "Who else do you know that would A) care enough to learn Coulson's handwriting so well, and B) think a prank this- this-  _puerile,_ and  _assinine_ , and specific to you would be amusing?!"

"I dunno! Someone who wants to make you mad at me, since it looks like that's the only thing being accomplished?" Clint realizes that she's one of the busiest people here and that she has a right to be mad but it doesn't mean he has to accept the brunt of it being directed at him or take this lying down. 

Clint only realizes he's wrinkling the forms with his grip when Natasha reaches to take them from him. 

"Perhaps this would be best solved with less yelling and in a more private setting," Nat says as she smooths out the paper. Clint takes solace in the fact that she seems to be taking his side and is merely trying to deescalate the situation. She hands the forms back to Meredith. "Why don't you ask Fury-"

"I am  _not_  going to bother the Director with this," she insists, shooting a new glare at Clint.

Natasha doesn't visibly show annoyance but her voice is just a few degrees colder when she says, "Fine, then I'll ask him." But when she goes to take the requisition back, Meredith drops her arm to the side out of Natasha's immediate reach. 

"And am I just supposed to solve this little mystery by myself? I've got better things to do than go on a goose chase."

"As professional spies and active field agents," Nat tells her, as cold as before, "Clint and I will look into it. We'll ask Coulson, too."

Meredith comes close to sneering before she turns and stomps back the way she came. Nat and Clint watch her go. Behind them there are a good dozen pairs of eyes still trained on their backs. Unbothered, Nat turns away, taking him by the crook of his arm.

"C'mon," she says, leading him to one of the offshoot corridors. 

Once they're down the hall, away from the main part of the room, where they're unlikely to be heard, Nat gives a low whistle. Clint glances at her and snorts at her unimpressed expression. He loves that Nat's always on his side. But Clint shrugs and looks forward again.   
"She's right," he says, just loud enough for Natasha to hear. She doesn't look at him or answer, but tilts her ear the slightest bit towards him so he knows she's listening. "Who the hell would pull this kind of gag?"

            *&*&*&*&*&*

 

A fist drops down onto the edge of Phil's blotter along with the shadow of someone looming over it. 

"You mind telling me what the hell this is?"

Fury drops a thin stack of papers on the desk, right on top of the much thicker file that Phil was busy annotating. Coulson stares down at them then looks up at Fury through his glasses, not even bothering to tilt his head up to meet his gaze evenly.

"It's a completed Form 216-B; additional insurance policy request for an active field agent."

"Uh-huh," Fury answers, dry as a desert. "Why the hell did you fill it out?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't have?" Phil leans back in his seat, which is as good as a shrug, "It seems self-explanatory."

"I wanna hear you say it." Nick's tone is unyielding.

But Phil doesn't have any reason to be defensive. "Other than the main reason someone gets an insurance policy? I suppose I'm hoping it'll get Barton's attention about how much he puts himself in jeopardy. Possibly enough for him to keep on top of his risk awareness and safety training. Hell, maybe it'll keep SHIELD from unnecessarily pushing his health or putting him in danger so much. We tend to ask a lot more of him than we do other Assets - if there's the threat of a huge payout hanging over our heads, it's a good deterrent from doing that." 

And damn, he didn't sound non-defensive. Moreover, Fury isn't buying it. 

"That's a lot of reasons you got there, Cheese."

Now, Phil does shrug. "Call it job security for him."

"Yeah? 'Cause I call it a cry for help - with getting your head out of your ass." He pushes away from the desk and stands up straight. "You officially care too much. Either ask him out or draw the fucking line, because I'm over this shit," he says as he cuts a slice through the air with his hand, stern expression firmly in place. He scoops the paperwork back up as he turns, and strides to the door, throwing it open but not even bothering with the courtesy of slamming it closed.

"Too far, Cheese!" he calls out like a warning as he walks down the hall. Phil sighs and stands, getting up from behind his desk to gently shut his door - noting the heads popped up over cubicle walls staring at either his doorway or Director Fury's retreating figure. 

Nick can be so goddam dramatic, sometimes. And this little encounter was purely theatrics. Phil is absolutely certain that Nick has already started to approve the request. But Phil is used to this and he'll continue to tolerate it well into the future. It's what you do when your best friend is your boss and also, an asshole. 

He goes back to his desk and picks up where he left off in his work. 

 

            *&*&*&*&*&*

 

Phil looks up as the door to his office opens. Clint knocks as he pokes his head in. 

"You busy?" he asks.

"I've got a moment," he says. Clint is someone he always tries to make time for when he comes looking for Phil. Clint steps the rest of the way inside and lets the door fall shut behind him. 

"So, Nat and I have had a fun morning," he says, moving to stand in front of Phil's desk. "We've been playing Internal Affairs and we still are, actually - the mystery hasn't been solved. But I wanted to take a break, now that you're out of your meeting, to come let you know what's up. Because, get this," - he's got a grin on his face so wide that Phil wonders how on earth he's missed something so amusing and big enough to warrant his assets' investigative skills - "Somebody submitted a requisition for an insurance policy on my arms for a million dollars. They even managed to fake your handwriting for it." A small laugh escapes him. 

"That was me," Phil answers suddenly, ready to correct the misunderstanding before trying to take the time to think of a more eloquent response.

Clint's eyes widen comically, "What?"

"I submitted that paperwork. Fury already came in and talked to me about it."

Clint's jaw drops, " _You_  did that?" he gapes.

Phil nods and for some ungodly reason feels the need to explain himself; "It's not an unreasonable request-"

"A  _million_  dollars? For my arms?"

"They're your livelihood," Phil says matter-of-factly. 

Clint shakes his head disbelievingly, "You'd think that if any part of me was going to be insured, it would be my eyes."

Phil had considered it, but he'd wanted to have this exact conversation before he did any of the paperwork. Despite how ... enticing Clint's physicality is, it felt less like objectification to insure his arms rather than his eyes. He knows Clint too well - knows his sense of self-worth is narrow and specific. And aside from wanting to be a good friend and dissuade those feelings, he'd wanted to do his job to provide his Asset with protection and maybe make the truth obvious enough to boost Clint's esteem. 

Clint's arms are something he's proud of - something he's worked for instead of something he was born with. Phil had been fairly confident that insuring them would be toeing the line without crossing it. Because at this point in his career, Clint is much more than his perfect aim, and he deserves to know that. 

But explaining that would almost defeat the purpose of his tertiary goal. So instead, he says, "What's the point of having a little power if you can't use it every once in a while."

It seems to set Clint at rights as well - his hand darts up to his chest and he says, mock aghast, "What would Captain America say?"

"I'm sure he'd agree that looking after the people you care about is a worthy pursuit."

Clint tsks once, "You can't use Azzano as an excuse for everything."

Phil holds his palms out in an open sort of gesture, "It's gotten me this far."

Clint laughs outright at that.

"Well, it's obvious you care a lot," he says. "A million dollars? Seriously?"

"That part seems to be tripping you up a little."

Clint gives a half-hearted shrug. Then there's a strange little shift in his demeanor and his expression turns conspiratorial, "You know sir, I think Natasha's going to be a little miffed that you didn't do something like this for her."

"SHIELD doesn't insure  _je n'ai sais quoi_."

"Are you saying I don't have  _je n'ai sais quoi?_ "

"No I'm saying it's something I can't get an insurance policy for. Intangible qualities tend to be hard things to nail down with money."

"Speaking of money," Clint says wryly, "we should really cash in on this while it's still a mild scandal. I'm thinking a SHIELD version of the Chippendale's calendar."

Phil feels his expression start to border on turning hungry. He hums faux-thoughtfully, "That doesn't sound like a half bad idea."

Clint barks out a laugh and turns to go. "Let me know how it turns out," he says over his shoulder. Then, as he opens the door; "I'm calling dibs on October. I won't need much notification before I pose, but a little would be nice." 

And Phil sort of wishes he could see the reactions of whatever coworkers were in the vicinity. He gets back to work with a smile on his face.

 

            *&*&*&*&*&*

 

Phil finishes at what is, for him, a comparatively reasonable hour; it's only almost the next day as he shuts and locks his office door. The SHIELD main office is never really empty but it does feel quieter now as he crosses to the elevator and heads down to the shooting gallery. Glancing over his present coworkers, Phil thinks of how the overlap in shift changes is the perfect facilitator for the exchange of gossip. And then he thinks about how a portion of today's gossip regarded Clint's insurance policy, in no small part because Clint had started making jokes about it immediately after leaving Phil's office. It had doubled after Phil had texted him about getting a policy for his eyes as well. 

There'd been a few references to Suzana Alves and Troy Polamolu, song suggestions for "wannabe Bruce Springsteen", and some facetious, borderline indecent, requests for autographs from their resident Dolly Parton. As far as Phil's heard and seen, Clint has been receiving it all with absolute delight. 

Not a word has been said about Phil being the one to take it out.

But now, as he rounds the corner and the entrance to the range comes into view, Phil has to withhold the urge to grin as a joke of his own comes to him. He swipes his keycard and pulls the handle. Clint must catch sight of him from the corner of his eye because he turns to look over his shoulder just as he looses an arrow. Phil remains behind the barely open door, between it and the frame, as he knocks on it then calls out, "Ms. Grable, your car is waiting."

Clint cracks up. He actually bends over a little and braces his free hand against the shelf in his lane as his shoulders shake. Phil loves watching him laugh and it's always that much better to be the one to earn the reaction. He steps forward, crossing to the assembly table at the back half of the gallery as Clint slows his laughter and catches his breath. He sniffs and stands, propping his hands on his hips as he sighs and looks up at Phil, where he's patiently waiting propped against the metal table, arms crossed over his chest. 

"C'mon, Barton," he says with a smile that feels inexorably soft, "Time to head home."

Clint keeps smiling at him as he turns away to head down the lane and collect his arrows. He brings everything back to the table and stands beside Phil as he packs it all up in his bowcase. 

"Natasha made the same reference earlier. Right after Meredith confronted us about the paperwork. I think your joke was better though."

"Meredith confronted you about it?" Phil asks, because that wasn't anything that had been mentioned to him. 

"Yeah, didn't I say it earlier?" Phil shakes his head. "Oh, well, yeah. That's how Nat and I found out it even existed." He scoffs, "She jumped us right after we came out of the breakroom with our coffee. Came down the hall and started accusing me of forging paperwork and pulling a gag just to waste her time. It wasn't what I expected would be happening at eight fucking AM, but it was hilarious once we realized what was going on."

"You'd had your coffee, I don't know how much more prepared than that you can be," Phil says as he opens and holds the door for Clint. 

"It was only my second cup of the morning," Clint protests. 

Phil shakes his head, "Don't try that with me. I've had the sludge you make at home. And you count a full carafe as your 'first cup.'"

Clint pouts silently as they walk down the corridor and Phil allows himself the touch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. 

"I didn't bring Lola today," Phil says purely for the sake of conversation, "But with the way you moon over the seat warmers in SHIELD transports, I'm hoping you'll be able to manage your disappointment. Just don't fall asleep before I get you home. You put up such a huge fuss last time I had to wake you and I'm not quite in the mood to repeat the experience."

When he's met with several seconds of silence, Phil spares him a glance, and finds his companion staring off into the space ahead of them. "Clint?"

"You really think I'm worth it?" 

The question catches Phil off guard. "Worth it?"

Clint turns his head to face him. "A million dollars for my arms, two and a half for my eyes - plus my regular life policy." He watches Phil closely as he speaks. 

"Of course," is Phil's automatic response, "You're worth everything." 

It takes him a moment to process what's wrong with his answer. When it does, the blunt honesty hits him like a door closing unexpectedly on his face. His step hitches but he doesn't stop and he shuts down any further reaction in the hopes that Clint won't read it as Phil has accidentally intended. His focus means that he doesn't realize he's lost Clint at his side until, from behind him, comes a questioning, "Phil?"

Phil stops. Hesitates like a fool; like he isn't an immaculately trained spy. But he turns around, and finds Clint halted where they'd been standing as Phil had spilled his truth - his secret. 

"I-" he starts to say, and then cuts himself off. There's no good explanation now that Clint's caught him. The only alternative would be to lie, and Phil doesn't think he can bring himself to do that. Is he supposed to apologize? Does he need to explain more? "I-" he starts again, but once more fails with the followthrough as he watches Clint take a few slow, cautious steps towards him. 

"Do you," Clint asks, then hesitates - much softer than Phil's abrupt self-interruption. "Does that," he starts again, like he's searching for the right words. Then suddenly, he's right in front of Phil. He searches Phil's face and swallows thickly. 

"Could I kiss you?" he asks, and all the breath leaves Phil's chest. 

"That depends," Phil manages to say through his dry mouth, "on why you'd want to do that."

Clint is loose-limbed and his voice is almost dreamy when he says, "Because I've been half in love with you for years. And now I'm thinking that maybe you're at least a little interested in me, too." His gaze falls to Phil's mouth then back up to meet his eyes. "There's no time like the present. I'd rather find out - risk looking like an idiot - than miss the chance to be with you."

"To be with me?" Phil parrots. "You mean you'd want-?" Clint's nodding is why he cuts himself off this time.

"If you're going to give me a little, I'm gonna ask for a lot. I'd want a relationship." He's almost smiling when he adds, "It's part of the whole 'half in love' thing."

"That's the part I'm still trying to process," Phil says - finally contributing something to the exchange. 

"Are- Are you opposed to it?" Clint looks nervous but doesn't fidget or shift his steady gaze. "Am I out of line?"

Phil shakes his head wordlessly. "I'm," he clears his throat, "I'd very much be in favor of it."

"Yeah?"

Phil nods, his speech still failing him. But Clint only stands there watching him, and so he takes a moment to compose himself - to think where this has the potential to lead. 

"Shall we," he says with intent, "discuss this on the drive?" 

Clint's doesn't look to any of the security cameras in the corridor but he obviously picks up on Phil's unsaid  _away from prying eyes_. He nods and takes up their previous pace, Phil falling easily into stride beside him. Now, however, there's a budding tension. 

It's the thrill of anticipation, certainly. The momentary limitations on their interactions is nearly tangible, at least to Phil. The expectancy heightens when they enter the elevator. There's no waiting on the carriage - the door open as soon as Clint presses the call button. They step in beside each other as they have a million times before. Phil leans forward, presses the button for the underground car lot, but as soon as he steps back beside Clint, the suspense is renewed. The sense of privacy and limited space behind the closed doors have Phil more aware of their proximity than normal. He finds himself focused on every breath Clint takes, and the warmth radiating off of Clint's arm onto his. Clint's inhales start to synchronize with his and Phil is sure that if he were to reach over, he'd find Clint's forearm covered in goosebumps - like he was waiting for physical contact and as attuned to Phil as Phil is to him. 

But the bell of the door signaling their arrival seems to shake both of them a bit. 

Once the doors open on the parking garage, Phil leads them to the car he's borrowed. When he clicks the beeper to unlock it, Clint swipes the keys from him and skips ahead, hopping into the passenger side. He's turned the car on by the time Phil opens the driver's door, and is fiddling with the many comfort settings.

"I bet you dollars to donuts that Rollins was the last one to sit here," Clint declares as he adjusts the seat. "That asshole never resets anything. I feel like I'm stuffed into a kiddie swing right now."

Phil buckles his seatbelt and watches with mild amusement as Clint slide back slowly until he has enough room for his legs to stretch out.

"Just enjoy your seat warmers," Phil tells him, putting the SUV in gear and pulling out of the parking space. Clint leans forward and presses some of the buttons on the dash, then relaxes back into the leather upholstery and sighs, letting his eyes fall closed. 

Despite his earlier complaints about Clint falling asleep, Phil lets him be and drives. 

Traffic is steady but the drive is easy. Phil lets this be the gradual transition between the chaos of work and the calm he'll find at home. He allows himself to glance at Clint's loose, shadowy figure at a few stop lights.  
When they pull up outside of Clint's apartment building, Coulson puts the car in park and reaches out to touch Clint's arm. He wakes before Phil can even say anything. 

"Shit," Clint's voice is quiet and tired. He rubs his eyes with one hand and checks his watch on the other as he sits up. "Oh," he says, looking over at Phil, "I- That ride felt so normal. I completely forgot to ask you about, uh, when you'd like to go out."

Phil's smile is small and genial, "That's alright. I'm still here, and I haven't changed my mind."

"Um," Clint purses his lips together for a moment, "Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night? It might be a little weird, but maybe we can talk more about feelings-stuff?" 

"That sounds perfect," Phil tells him. 

Clint nods and sits forward, unbuckling his seatbelt and preparing to get out. Phil reaches out to gently grip his arm again and get his attention so that Clint turns to face him. 

"Are you going to claim your kiss?" Phil asks wryly. 

A sudden laugh escapes Clint, "Yeah," he says, with a smile, starting to lean across the console, "I can't believe I almost forgot."

"I'll try not to read too much into it," Phil says quietly in the scant space between them. And then their lips are pressing together and Clint's hand is coming up to hook at the junction of Phil's neck and shoulder. Phil revels in both touches. The contact is sensational and warm - their lips connecting and reconnecting over and over until they're both breathless. Clint's browbone knocks into Phil's glasses a few times and Phil's nose keeps digging into Clint's cheek and it's perfect. 

When they finally break, Clint stalls his panting by pursing his lips again as he searches Phil's face. Phil can't look away when Clint ends up just biting his bottom lip. But then he clears his throat and says, "I'll let you know tomorrow when I've made reservations?"

Phil can feel the corners of his eyes wrinkling with a smile, "Perfect," he says. 

"Okay," Clint says, keeping his eyes locked with Phil's. He takes a breath, "I'm- gonna go now."

"Okay," Phil says, still smiling. 

Clint darts back in for one more kiss then sits all the way back and opens the door. 

"'Night," he says, giving Phil just enough time to respond before he closes it: 

"Goodnight Clint."

Phil sits and watches him walk up the front steps. Clint looks over his shoulder and gives a wave from the doorway before he goes inside. And Phil allows himself the luxury of a moment to savor the past half hour and the taste of his goodnight kisses before he can bring himself to drive off. But only a moment. After all, he needs a decent night's sleep if he wants to make a good impression on his date tomorrow. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You've reached the end of the line. Thank you for joining me on another tour of the Marvel Universe. Your attention, in addition to kudos and comments, is appreciated. Please exit safely, and mind the gap.  
> You can find me on tumblr at my [ Marvel blog](http://www.mrwonderwoman.tumblr.com).
> 
> This was inspired by a line from my other fic "close like you wouldn’t believe" which I'll link once it's finished and published. (Also I just realized that I wrote this in six days??)  
> I swear I'm working on the sequels that I've promised for other stories, they're just taking an extra while. Mostly because I keep thinking of new, dumb details that I want to add. 
> 
> Here's a [fun list](http://content.time.com/time/specials/packages/completelist/0,29569,2015171,00.html) of celebrities with insured body parts that I used for reference. 
> 
>  
> 
>  **If you liked this story you may also like:**  
> [Burnin' Down the House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211047) by [mrwonderwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/mrwonderwoman)  
> [The Beavertail Protocol](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188438/) by [soniclipstick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick)  
> [Wake Me Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5547593) by [cakeisnotpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie)  
> 


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